


A Paladin of Chaos

by ausmac



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9609272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: Varian finds another survivor in the cells beneath Stormwind's Keep - Tirion Fordring.A sequel to "Darkness Take My Soul"





	1. Allegiance

It took Anduin a day to cleanse Stormwind of the Legion.  He swept through the ranks of demons and their servants, a cool wind of annihilation, turning to ash every one of them that he came into contact with.  Varian watched his son destroy one demon lord after another – their power hardly touched him and never slowed his eerily calm progress.  He simply absorbed whatever attacks that were launched at him and sent the attacks back in waves of pure Chaos.  It was beautiful to watch.

For Varian it was far more visceral.  One by one he killed each demon and felsworn servant  he could find, destroying the demons and absorbing their spirits into his sword.  None returned to the Twisting Nether, each one was captured, absorbed, imprisoned, until Anduin would have the time to remove and utterly destroy them.

He ventured down into the lower regions of the Keep and killed any Legion servants he found there.  Many of the imprisoned survivors were mind-damaged beyond hope of healing and these he released with as little pain as possible.  But in one cell he found a special prisoner, someone he’d not expected to find alive.

Tirion Frodring was chained to the wall of a cell, naked and fouled.  He was skeletally thin, his hair hanging matted and dirty over his shoulders.  He carried the marks of repeated torture, had obviously been abused in every conceivable way, including what had been done to Varian – his eyes were gone.  Yet he still had enough fire in his gut to curse at Varian when he was cut down, to crawl and spit and struggle.  Varian pulled him to his feet, placed a hand on his forehead and thrust understanding into his worn and damaged mind.

“Varian…is that…you?”

“Yes.”

The paladin staggered, hanging onto Varian grimly.  “I thought…I was finished.  Just the rest of my dying to do, listening to the screaming.  It just didn’t stop, the screaming.”  His ragged head lifted as he fought for balance.  “I’m so tired, Varian.  They worked on me to drive the Light out of me.  I think they may have succeeded, I cannot feel it anywhere.  Have you come to offer me Release?”

Varian supported him and helped him to a bench.  “Only if you wish it.  Or I can show you a new way.”  He stroked one hand across Tirion’s scarred and battered face.  “My life was also finished,  I knew I’d  die with Azeroth and everything on it.  I was given another life to live, and a new path.  You can join me on that path if you want, to carry on the fight against the Legion.”  And he bent his head to kiss the blind eyes, the battered cheeks and the open mouth.  It was like a blessing.  “But for the moment, you’re alive and the ones who did this to you are dead.  It’s a good starting place.”

Varian led Tirion upstairs and into the cleansed throne room.  All the torn banners and shattered furnishings had been removed – even poor Genn’s skin had been placed on a pyre and burned and its ashes spread over the sea.  Black and silver pennants hung from the walls, sparkling with starlight and torches burned, throwing a warm, golden light.  The throne, too, was gone, replaced by a wide, cushioned seat covered in silk and woollen cloth.  Anduin was seated there, curled up comfortably, a crystal glass of wine in one hand.  His black eyes studied Tirion as Varian led him forward, letting him slide down to sit on the floor, as he could barely stand.

“Tirion.  I’m so pleased you are alive.  We’d thought you dead with so many of the other paladins.”

Tirion straightened, turning blindly towards the familiar voice.  “Anduin?  You survived?”

“Indeed.  Survived and more.”  He held out his hand.  “Come to me, Tirion.  Let me heal you.”

Varian helped Tiriion across the rug-covered stone and settled him to his knees before Anduin.  The old Paladin reached out a tentative hand, and Anduin took it in his.  “I don’t know what good it will do to heal me,” he said wearily, “whatever I was before has been shattered and lost.”

“I'll help you find yourself again,” Anduin said softly, placing one hand under Tirion’s chin, and the other on his heart.  "First, let me give back what was taken from you, and more.”

Varian watched the air sparkle and shift around the paladin, as if ebon stars were sinking into his flesh.  His body shifted and changed and Tirion groaned, shuddering as the strange power touched and reformed him.  There was a flash of dark energy;  after moments it faded, normal light returned to the room and Varian looked down at a Tirion remade anew.

Gone was the damaged, enfeebled old man – this was Tirion as he’d been as a new paladin, young and strong, his hair dark brown and shining with a single silver white streak in the hair lying across his temple.  His skin was unwrinkled and his body fit and tall.  The only thing missing was his blue eyes; his face still bore the scarred pits where his eyes had been.   Anduin leant back and curled around his seat.  “Take him to clean up and dress, father.”

After a wash and clean clothing to replace the filthy rags he’d worn, Varian took Tirion to the kitchen and prepared a simple meal for him of porridge and tea.  “There isn’t much in the way of supplies,” Varian said as he put Tirion’s hand on the plate and spoon.  “When we have enough people I'll send out parties to hunt down meat and gather up the remaining stores…

“Varian.”  Tirion dropped the spoon, his hands shaking.   “Enough about food.  What did Anduin do to me?   I fought Gul’dan’s corruption – has you son finished the work?  Has he altered me without my permission?”

“Altered?  I think not.  He has no reason to, within the scope of his powers and plans.”  Varian took Tirion’s shaking hands in his.  “I don’t know exactly what he did, his power is immense.  I’m don’t know its limits.  I can only see what you are now.  He’s renewed you, given you back your years so that you may face the Legion in strength and power.”

He told Tirion of Anduin’s state, of how he had joined with an Old God, destroyed Gul’dan and cleared the city of the Legion and its creatures.  Tirion listened, shaking his head now and then but letting Varian speak without interruption.  When it was done he sat back, holding the cup of cooling tea in both hands, his head to one side.  “And he wishes me to join him in this … what is it, a force of Chaos?”

Varian poured himself a mug of tea, adding a good dollop of honey to it.  “He’s not told me a name for it.  Tirion, he will make you an offer.  Give him your allegiance, serve him in his goal of destroying the Legion and defending Azeroth – or not.  Either way you won’t be further harmed.  But he admires and respects you, as I do.  I do not believe my son would ever have you do anything that would taint your honour.  But you must decide.”

After finishing the simple meal – the first food, he told Varian, that had passed his lips in a week – Varian guided Tirion back into Anduin’s presence.  His son was sitting crossed legged, his eyes closed, with a stream of silent, sparkling power twirling slowly above his head.  Now and then images flashed in the circular patches of air within the stream – what seemed to be places on Azeroth and now and then locations that looked like nothing Varian had ever seen.  Varian settled Tirion down on the floor on a cushion, then sank into a comfortable crouch.  Anduin would know they were there and he would wait for his son to finish whatever he was busy doing, without interruption.  They communicated on a subliminal level, exchanging feelings and sensations.  It was a comfortable awareness.

Eventually Anduin’s eyes opened as the energy faded away.  He stretched and sighed.  “We have much to do, father, we cannot wait any longer to begin it.”

Varian nodded slowly.  “Good, the sooner started, the sooner ended.”

Anduin turned his head and looked down at Tirion, consideration stirring bright points of light in his black eyes.  “So, paladin, has my father spoken to you of me?  I see he has, and I’m sure you have questions.”

Tirion laughed.  There was an edge to the laughter, the weary echo of pain that Varian understood all too well.  “What exactly are you, Anduin?  Are you even human anymore?”

“Certainly.  My body is entirely human, and my mind as well.  It is simply that I share it with another.  I thought father had explained it to you.”

“He did.  It’s just so incredible.  But tell me, Prince – are you still the decent young man I knew?  Is there goodness in you?”

 “Good is such a limiting term.”  His voice was low and soft.  “I’m neither good, nor bad.  Chaos is not a simple state of being.  It is the cosmos in constant flux.  Every action has an untold number of possible outcomes and to try and direct that action into something as simplistic as good or evil is restrictive at best, and foolish most of all.  I am in flux but I have certain defined objectives.  One is the destruction of the Burning Legion, which wants nothing more than the  annihilation of the cosmos.  The other is the security and future of Azeroth.  Its titan core is central to a potential future that is equally in flux.”  He sipped his wine, eyes shining with starlight.

“You are an old god.”  Tirion’s voice grew more deliberate.  “Surely that…”

“Part of me is an old god.  And part of me is Anduin Wrynn, Prince of Stormwind, son to Varian Wrynn.”  Varian saw him smile and for a few moments he was that young man he’d sired.  “If that isn’t the definition of personal chaos, I’m not sure what would be.”  Then the smile faded and he bent his attention once more to Tirion.  “If you wish to serve me, you must do so with a whole heart.  I cannot accept the allegiance of anyone who doubts me.  Take some time to think on it if you need it, I understand it’s a significant choice.  Either way, I’ll honour it.”

Varian watched as Tirion struggled with the decision.  He guessed that ultimately his desire to destroy the Legion and save Azeroth – and perhaps the very human desire for vengeance, for what they’d done to him and his companions – would overcome his doubts.  And he was right.

“I need no more time.  Yes, I’ll take service with you, Anduin.”  Tirion rose to his knees and crawled forward, hands held out, searching.  “All my life I have wrought for the Light and Azeroth.  I can't sense it anymore, its a void in me.  It wasn’t strong enough, or my faith in it wasn’t enough.  Either way, I’m weary of being in the dark.  I sense no evil in you.  But I do sense great power, and truth.  Take my oath, young one.  I’ll serve you gladly, you and Azeroth, to the end of the Burning Legion and beyond.  Tthough what use you’ll have for a blind old man…”

“That I can remedy.  Take back your eyes, Tirion Fordring.”  Anduin floated down and touched Tirion’s face.  Power flowed over his skin; he gasped and shuddered and when he lifted his eyelids, he had new eyes  to see the remarkable creature above him who he now served. 

Anduin stroked his hair and it flowed about the older man’s face in a wash of dark brown and silver.  “I accept your oath.  Now you need to begin building a new army for me.  There are broken paladins out there who need your help.  You have what you need now to renew and test them.”

As he stood, armour formed about his refreshed and renewed body, deep blue and gold with a matching silver-lined cloak.  His sword floated in the air before him.  “Take your weapon, paladin.  It’s also renewed.  Perhaps you should rename it.”

Ashbringer’s blade was black, its edge an almost invisible sharpness that seemed to fade into shadow.  Silver and blue gleamed on its hilt.  He took hold of the hilt in his right hand and rested the flat of the blade on his left palm.  “It will tell me its new name in time.”  Tirion slid the sword into his back sheath, bowed to Anduin and looked up at Varian.  “Where should I go?”

“The Broken are outside the city walls.  I’d suggest you start there.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm not entirely happy with this piece, this particular chapter has been sitting on my computer for ages now and I figured if I didnt do a touch up and post it I never would. So, here tiz.

The Light had bestowed a purity upon them that transcended mere flesh.  Yet flesh was a Paladin’s greatest weakness, for flesh could be hurt.  Stripped of their magical Light-infused armour they were made vulnerable.  And once that vulnerability had been achieved, the fel’s taint had worked its corruptive way into their minds and bodies.  Dark magics designed to distract, to block, to confuse, had gradually distanced them from the Light.  And when they no longer felt its supportive power, the first hints of doubt had crept in.  Feeling confused and abandoned, they had in turn abandoned hope.  It had not taken minutes or hours or days.  It had taken weeks of constant, unremitting pain.  Faith, like flesh, could be worn away if the power to do so was persistent enough.  The demons had been very persistent.  After all, failure only meant their victim’s death.  Success meant something else altogether. 

Those who'd survived were huddled together in groups under the trees, lengths of chain and rope keeping them together and unable to move far.  Even had they wanted to escape, it would have required planning and will.  Having neither, they sat and waited for death.

Tirion stood watching them as anger swelled in his middle.  There had to be fifty of them, all ages and races.  For once, the Horde and the Alliance were joined together in a mutual cause – the cause of hopelessness and decline.  Their minds had been battered as badly as their bodies with pain and fear.  Even the strongest would eventually buckle under unending torture.  Tirion knew that well enough.  Naked, starving, some were even chained to the bodies of the dead.  It was appalling.

He pulled his sword and moved forward, slicing through chains and ropes, despatching the dead into cleansing flame and driving the mewling, terrified creatures off to one side.  _How_ he asked himself, watching them cower in a huddle, _am I supposed to reach these poor creatures?_

Anduin had provided little instruction on the use of his new powers.  He'd only said _if you wish to do something, try to do it – the Way will open to you or not, as it wills.._ He'd almost muttered a snide "Thank you Lord", but had choked back the words and caught sight of the amused spark in Varian’s eyes.  He wondered if Anduin had said the same thing to his father.  It seemed a ridiculous way to engage in his new career.  It seemed…

 _Chaotic_.  Tirion snorted a laugh and hunched down in front of the nearest paladin.  It was a young woman, naked and filthy and he tried not to imagine what had been done to her – though it didn’t take that much imagination.  She stared back at him from the eyes of a terrified animal and she chewed at the bloodied, broken nails of one hand while twisting the other in her matted hair. 

“Did no one ever tell you, young lady,” he said in a quiet, soft voice, “that biting your nails is a nasty habit?”  And he reached out to her without moving a muscle, as he would once have as a paladin, to heal and mend.  This time it was to reach through the miasma of her fear to her inner spirit, which no amount of torture could destroy.  It was there, buried under layers of scarred mind and heartache and he touched it, cradling it.  Her fire was banked low, hardly there at all and it was only her immense strength of soul that had kept her alive.  And her hope, that fragile flower of the spirit that was so hard to destroy.

His power was not what it had been, there was no glorious Light in him to share with her now.  What he had was his anger, his desire for revenge on the monsters that had perpetrated the horrors on her – and the knowledge that she could do that, avenge her lost self.  He shared that dark, avenging flame.  She’d been lost to the Light and unable to see her way out.  He didn’t offer false hope, that all her pain and dishonour and shame would be removed.  He offered her a special redemption – the redemption of destruction, to wipe away the foulness of the Legion so that it could not do to others what it had done to her.

She took the power, as soul-hungry as her body was starving and pulled herself up into his arms, sobbing cleansing tears from her newly made eyes.  “Father…”  She hung onto him, her arms shaking and he held her as she joined her spirit to his in a silent oath.

Her name was Olivia, and she was the first.

Along the way of returning their spirits to life, he realised that the Legion torturers had addicted the Broken to fel.  Not in the same way as Blood Elves, but as a pure hunger.  They’d been fed fel during the torturing, the terrible energy taking the place of the Light when it was driven out.  That hadn’t been done to him, though he had no idea why.  He assumed the demon lords had some plan for him, with Anduin and Varian’s rise had forestalled.

He wasn’t sure how to combat the Brokens’ addiction, but first things first.  First return their spirits and renew their bodies and the rest could follow later.  _Hopefully Anduin or Varian will have some idea of how to correct this horror…_

By the end of the day Tirion had managed to save thirty five of the Broken.  Sixteen had been too severely damaged to respond and he’d given them a painless release.  And though the survivors would form the core of a new force, they were in a bad way, physically.  With his loss of the Light he could no longer heal, but he knew someone who could.  First things first, though - they needed food, water, bathing and clothes.  In that order.

Olivia became his aide.  Her dedication to him was absolute – she never questioned, never hesitated, but struggled to walk beside him despite her pain, watching him now and then from wide, worshipping eyes.  It was a little daunting and he hoped in time that some of her independence would return.  For the moment she was happy to follow, totally unconcerned at her nakedness, wanting just to be physically close to him. 

Their return to Stormwind was necessarily slow, and required frequent stops for rest along the way.  Tirion sent two of the strongest into taverns and shops as they entered the city and they returned with a stock of food and drink which was handed out amongst the group.  One of the male paladins, a young Tauren, was fairly fit and Tirion left him in charge of feeding and watering the rest while he headed for the Keep.

Varian was pleased with his progress.  “It’s a positive start.  I’m sorry you were forced to ease the passing of so many, but it would have been a kindness.  Once your group are well enough to move, bring them here and introduce them to Anduin.  He will see to their welfare.”

There were no horses left alive in Stormwind.  Even the mounts in the royal stables had been killed, for food and for sport.  So the tired, injured recruits had to walk through the shattered city, a journey made more difficult by streets filled with rubble.  Tirion didn’t hurry them, but let them rest when they needed to.  It was an instructive journey as well – he saw who walked on with occasional complaint, those who stepped forward with jaw-clenching determination, those who stumbled and those who helped others.  It allowed him to judge their metal and he had already chosen his new leaders by the time they reached the Keep.

The young Tauren, Kempos, he wanted for his quiet determination and endurance.  A Draenei, Nemeera, had been terribly mutilated, with his facial tendrils torn off along with part of his tail.  Yet he never complained, even though Tirion knew that being cut off from the Light would have hurt him even worse than the mutilation.  He was stoic and strong despite being very thin for a Draenei.  One of the Blood Elves had lost all memory of his past, including his name and some of the others told of the repeated sexual abuse he’d suffered – apparently the demons had found him to their taste.  He called himself Requite, and the fact that he’d retained his sanity was a testament to his resilience.

The day was almost over and the sun was setting out over the ocean beyond the city’s broken walls by the time they entered the Keep.  He led them up the long sloping corridor to the throne chamber and motioned them down to their knees before assuming the same position himself.  “Lord, I have brought the Broken to you to serve.  Some I could not save, but these ones are strong and, once healed, will be more than capable of fighting the Legion.”

Anduin opened his eyes and looked down at the assembled group.  It wasn’t simply a glance, it was an assessment and he saw them flinch, one by one, as Anduin’s tremendous power touched their minds and souls.  He felt Varian’s hand on his arm when he would have moved forward.  “Wait,” Varian said softly.  “He needs to know.”

Tirion understood then.  The Burning Legion was cunning, devious in its ways of twisting and corruption.   Even as he thought it he saw a young woman leap to her feet and throw herself forward towards Anduin, her face twisting with feral rage.  Her body began to change and she screamed a curse as the demon inside her morphed her body, destroying her mind in the process.  And even as Varian pulled out his sword, Anduin responded.

A swirl of sparkling darkness slid from his hands and surrounded the writhing thing that had been a woman, and tightened.  Slowly, inexorably, the demon was crushed, as dark fluids sprayed out from its mouth along with choked curses and incomplete enchantments. 

Varian stepped forward and plunged his sword into the demon’s body.  The runes along the blade glowed green as the demon died, howling as its essence was pulled into the sword. And after it was dead and its body shrivelled back into shattered human remains, Anduin had turned to the rest and judged them.  “They are fel-corrupted,” he said, his voice a whisper.  “They should be…”

“Please Lord.”  Tirion knelt before him, beseeching.  “Can you not save them, as you did your father and I?”

Anduin looked a little annoyed at being interrupted and for a moment something like the young man Tirion had known.  “As I was about to say, they should be cleansed of the fel before they can serve me.”

“Can that be done?  Can they survive it?”

“Not if I only withdrew it – they would simply seek out more.  I must replace the fel with another energy that will sustain them.”  He drifted upwards, held out his hands and the Broken came to him, linking hands, kneeling and bowing before him.  Sparkling darkness flowed from his hands, through their bodies in a wave of power.  They keened at the pain, shuddering and writhing.  The sight of it shook Tirion – they had all suffered so much pain, he’d hoped… But then they stilled, sliding down to lie on the marble floor.  Anduin drew back and came to rest on his throne.

“They’ll rest now.  I’ve driven out the fel and replaced it with chaotic energies.  When they wake, they will be Paladins of Chaos."

 

And it proved to be so.  The eyes that opened when they woke were black, sparkling here and there with something like starlight, and their bodies carried the power proudly, as they turned to serve Tirion as their commander, and Anduin as their new Lord.

 


End file.
